Emery ran through the woods barefoot, thorns ripping through her skin, branches clawing at her like desperate hands. The air was thick, suffocating, filled with an eerie red mist that glowed like firelight. Every breath burned. Shadows danced around her—too fast, too close. She could hear growling. Not from behind.
A distant growl rumbled behind her.
She turned towards the sound, then saw Jaxon, but he was not the Jaxon she knew.
His eyes were bloodshot, glowing like embers in a dying fire. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and every inch of his body was soaked in blood. It dripped from his fingertips, painted his jaw, and clung to his hair like crimson threads. His shirt was torn, hanging in shreds, revealing deep claw marks across his torso.
"Jaxon?" she whispered slowly, he voice shaking.
He didn't answer, didn't blink, it was like he couldn't even recognize her.
He charged past her with a snarl that shattered the silence like glass. Emery screamed, but no sound came from her lips. She turned to run but her feet moved in slow motion, only to trip over something warm and wet.
She looked down, and saw Ronan bleeding. His eyes stared up at her but they were empty, hollow… dead.
"No," Emery gasped, crawling backward only to bump into another body. Then another, dozens, piled like discarded dolls across the clearing. Warriors. Omegas. Elders.
Everyone.
Her breath came in choking sobs. Then she saw him again, Jaxon.
He stood at the center of the carnage, a savage god of blood and ruin, his claws still dripping, his mouth curled in a twisted grin.
He raised his eyes and looked at her.
Recognition flickered and vanished. But he screamed in agonizing pain. Then he lunged towards her.
"JAXON!" she screamed.
She fell back, down, deeper into the darkness. Screams echoed around her, a child, a woman.
When she opened her eyes, it was to the ceiling of her cottage, her sheets soaked in sweat, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her throat was raw from a scream she hadn't realized that she even let out. She gripped the sheets, still shaking.
The nightmare clung to her like smoke.
"Was it a memory? A vision? Or just my mind unraveling?" Emery asked herself.
She pulled her knees to her chest, trembling, her gaze flicking to the moonlight pooling in through the wide window. She wasn't alone in that vision. She felt something ancient lurking in the shadows, something dark and twisted. It was never just about her.
She stood up and went to check up on Elara, but she was still asleep. So she threw on a cloak and left the cottage. The heaviness wouldn't let her stay still.
—
She hadn't walked far when she paused by the east garden path, a quiet part of the pack's territory, tucked behind the medicinal herb rooms. Morning fog clung low to the earth, and the scent of pine and damp moss filled the air.
That was when she saw him, Jaxon.
He was crouched beside the stream, his sleeves was rolled up to his elbows as he dipped a cloth into the cold water. Blood stained his left forearm, and as he cleaned the gash, his jaw clenched in pain, his eyes momentarily shut.
Emery's breath caught in her throat. "Emery, what are you thinking, I'm not supposed to care about him, I need to leave, he can take care of himself." She thought to herself. But her feet didn't move.
Jaxon looked up and their eyes met.
The silence between them stretched. No hostility, no anger. Just...raw quiet.
"You're up early," he said finally, his voice low.
Emery stepped closer. "You're bleeding." She said, while glancing at the wound.
"It's nothing," he muttered, trying to wipe again, but then he flinched.
"Let me." She knelt beside him, taking the cloth gently. He didn't protest.
The cold water was brisk against his skin, and she cleaned the wound carefully, her fingers brushing his wrist.
"You should have this bandaged," she said softly.
"I've had worse." He responded calmly, not taking his eyes off her.
"You always say that, do you think you can always survive all battles, why do you keep getting hurt?" She screamed at him furiously.
Jaxon chuckled a bit, "I'm sorry, it won't happen again." He said as he gently held her hand.
Emery flinched a bit, her heart beating wildly "What's wrong with me, why does he make me lose my composure…." Her thoughts ran wild.
Jaxon interrupted her thoughts. "How have you been?" He asked sincerely.
She cleared her throat as she pulled her hands away from him. "I'm fine, as you can see and I survived." She muttered. "I don't want you to think much about this, I only helped you because I can't stand the sight of blood and I scolded you because I have been having nightmares…. not just about you… so you should be careful, I don't know if it's just a nightmare." She stammered a bit.
"Alright, what it that bad?" He replied in a low tone, a bit disappointed by her words.
"Yes," she whispered, while standing up. "You were… different. Angry. Blood everywhere. You didn't even recognize me."
He didn't reply, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. "Sometimes I don't even recognize myself anymore."
His words were low, honest, a side of him most never saw and for a flicker of a moment, the space between them softened.
She looked at him, for the first time in a long time she felt pity for him.
"You need to protect the pack, I don't know what is coming, but I can tell it something we haven't faced in a long time. So you need to be strong not just for yourself and that involves you getting enough rest." Emery pointed out.
"That is easier said than done, don't you think." He lamented, letting out a bitter laugh.
"Maybe try taking it one step at a time. I need to go." Emery said as she took her leave.
Jaxon stared at her till he could no longer see her.
"Why do I always have to make the hard decisions, why can't I be happy." He said to himself, his heart filled with pain.
—
In the council hall,
Liora stood before the inner council, the oldest, most traditional of the Crestone Pack's elders. Liora 's face was calm, serene, but behind those eyes lay a sharp cunning personality.
"We must face the truth," she said, voice smooth as silk. "The pack needs stability. Our people are restless and Alpha Jaxon, as strong as he is, cannot lead without a Luna."
Elder Bran frowned. "Alpha Jaxon has not called for a Luna ceremony. He hasn't marked anyone."
"And yet the people already see someone beside him," Liora countered, her smile thin. "Sasha has stepped up. She is graceful, diplomatic. She already knows the customs. Do we really need to wait for formality?"
Murmurs passed through the room. Some nodded, others looked uneasy.
"You want us to pressure the Alpha into making a political union?" one asked.
"I want us to protect the pack's future," she replied sweetly. "And with rogues circling, isn't it better to show unity?"
Liora's hands remained folded, but her eyes gleamed with joy.
Everything was falling into place.